Fine

"Are we ready to try again?"

"Obviously!" I was annoyed, not least because of the bright light beaming down on me still.

"As my colleague," he paused, "tried to explain to you, as much as you do have rights, so does everyone else. So it's imperative that we keep you away from people you can hurt. Just like any other criminal act. However, in matters of national security, we have a special purview. This might, in fact, be to your advantage."

The long words aggravated the bruise on my head. I flopped my head sideways to face the mirror, using my hand to shield my eyes from the lights. "None of this sounds to my advantage so far."

"Well, put it this way, you committed a crime and you--"

"I didn't commit a crime!" I protested.

The voice didn't seem to want to argue with me as it continued, sternly, "You committed a crime and you were caught. You have two choices: earn back freedom, or be incarcerated somewhere your tricks won't work ... indefinitely."

I gritted my teeth. "And what do you want me to do?"

A few days later, I found myself sitting in a dry cleaning truck, surrounded by agency employees.

I was absentmindedly staring at the blinking lights of their communication equipment, thinking to myself. I formed just a daydream about using the rhythmic lights as a base to hypnotise someone before another small shock from my collar reminded me not to. "Shit," I whispered to myself, rubbing it.

"...And finally, need I remind you, if you get caught, you're alone: No help is coming. Understand?" The mission coordinator stooped over us in the cramped back of truck, waiting for us to nod diligently at her. This blonde, amazonian woman contrasted with the petite woman who met me in my office, however long ago that had been: she stood at at least my height and had the figure of a wrestler.

The silence broke me from my trance. I looked to my sides at my fellow 'agents,' surprised to see all of them looking at me expectantly. I figured this was not the first time they'd done this. I nodded.

The only person stooped over more than me in the truck was a man I can could only have described as a weapon. Chiselled cheek bones, well over six foot, and enough muscle to win an arm wrestle with a horse. I didn't question whether you could arm-wrestle a horse because I was too busy looking at my own body. I didn't hate it, but, jeez, his was something else.

My eyes moved on to two women, both fit, but wildly different ages. One looked barely a day over 18, while the other looked a bit over 30. They both, again, looked like they'd put up a good fight, but maybe not against a horse. They looked like they could be sisters. I wondered if they were.

"Are you sisters?" I asked. They're both hot, so what does it matter, I wondered to myself. My mind wandered to how I'd take advantage of them with my powers of suggestion, but the collar beeped and I choked in agony once again.

The tall mission leader waved in front of my face. "I'm going to take your collar off you now. I hope I can trust you." She reached around my neck and I dutifully bowed my face into her cleavage. I could feel her grimace above me, just as she could feel my breath on her breasts.

I rubbed my neck, finally free. The truck came to a stop and the door slid open. The team climbed out into the dark alleyway out of the door in single file. I went to step out when a chiselled hand attached to a chiselled forearm swung into my chest, halting me.

"You understand the mission, right? This isn't a joke." The 'weapon' man glared at me.

"Yeah yeah, go to restaurant, get to back door casino through the kitchen blah blah grab the baddie."

He looked uneasy but the mission leader gestured to him to let me go. I stuck my tongue out as we climbed into the street, but retracted it when the glare from the mission leader reminded me I probably shouldn't push my luck too far at this point.

I decided to cooperate for now, but it was starting to cross my mind that there would imminently be some kind of opportunity to regain my freedom. We continued towards the restaurant, dressed for, I figured, some kind of work dinner. Let's hope the baddie doesn't wonder why we just climbed out of a dry cleaning truck...